“The Shadow of the Web”
My visitor nodded and sank gracefully into a chair, leaning back
negligently. But as soon as the door had closed on Larry he seemed to
stiffen in a surprising manner, his negligence dropped from him and he
leaned forward with a certain eagerness. There was a force about him
now of which I had not been conscious before.
“Mr. Clayton,” he began, “I want to talk to you about your own
affairs—and I can only hope that you will hear me out before you
resent the apparent impertinence. I assure you that there is a
reason—and a good one—for my action. Have I your leave to go on?”
I nodded shortly. “Let’s hear what’s on your mind,” I told him. “But I
won’t guarantee not to resent any impertinence, as you call it,” I
added grimly.
He bowed and smiled. “That’s only natural and to be expected,” he
said. “But this is what I came to talk to you about.” He paused a
moment as though to collect his ideas, and then continued quickly:
“You have, I believe, spent the last two months searching for your
sister. I believe that, to a certain extent, I can help you in this
search, or, rather, that I can put you in the way of helping
yourself—seeking at a greater advantage and perhaps to better purpose.
If you care to listen to me, I will tell you what I have in mind. But
before doing so, I am forced to ask you for a pledge of absolute
secrecy. That is quite essential.”
He waited then, and I stared at him in growing amazement. Of all the
queer rigmarole——
He saw my expression and smiled. “Sounds like something straight out
of a melodrama, doesn’t it?” he said. Then the smile left his face and
he went on soberly: “Nevertheless, I am very much in earnest. I was
never more serious in my life than I am now, in assuring you that I
believe I can help you and that the pledge of secrecy is quite
essential. You will see why at once, if you give it. As you know
nothing at all about me, I might add that such a pledge will bind you
to nothing at all dishonorable, nor will it force you to connive at
anything dishonorable by your silence.”
“Good Lord, man,” I broke out at this, “what kind of a bee _have_ you
got in your bonnet? You seem to be in earnest, but what’s all this
talk about secrecy? If you know anything about my sister, for God’s
sake tell it to me and have done. I’ve been disappointed so often——”
He shook his head, his face sobering instantly. “I’m sorry to say I
haven’t,” he answered; “I’ve done my best, too. But there, give the
pledge, man. It’s little enough to give and I know you’ll keep it.”
“Very well,” I said at last, “I’ll keep secret anything you tell me,
provided—well, you understand. I’ll give you my word on that.”
He sat up, smiling again. “Good, I took you for a man of sense and I
was right. The suggestion I have to make to you is, that if you allied
yourself with a certain organization, you would be in a better
position to pursue your search. The organization can help you in many
ways, and your search itself will be of help to the others—the men
affiliated with you.”
“And the organization?” I demanded.
“The organization is the Secret Service of the United States!” he
answered quietly.
I sat and stared at him at this. And the longer I stared the more
indignant I grew. The thing was preposterous on the face of it. In the
first place, what had he to do with the detection of crime—this
fastidious young fop? Secondly, how could I pursue my own search if I
joined such an organization, presuming for a moment that I could do
so? And lastly, how could my search be of any possible benefit to the
United States? Still he seemed sane enough. There was an earnestness
about him that bade me hesitate in my indignation even. And he must
have _some_ object in his proposal.
At last the funny side of it struck me and I laughed. “Well, one of us
is crazy, I think, and I don’t think it’s I. Now will you tell me what
grounds you have for making such a proposal—what possible use I would
be to the Secret Service—and how on earth it would help me to join
them?” I demanded.
He laughed in his turn. “I admit it sounds absurd,” he said, “but I
think I can answer your questions to some extent. Under your pledge of
secrecy I can at least tell you that I have the honor to be an
operative of the Bureau of Investigation of the Department of Justice.
That is one of my reasons for making you this proposal. Secondly, I am
not alone in believing that you might be of great service to us at
this time, even,” he added, smiling, “if you do give food, shelter and
comfort, as we say, to a young gangster!”
I nodded grimly. “Is there anything else that you know about me?”
He laughed. “Yes, quite a lot. In fact, practically everything. I know
that you have considerable independent means, that you are, or were,
fairly successful as an artist—portrait painter; that your parents are
dead; that you are an athlete; that in spite of prohibition you still
buy bonded gin and whisky occasionally, by the case, and where you get
it; that during your search for your sister you narrowly escaped
getting mixed up in that Gerachty murder case; that you were in the
room when the man was stabbed, and that you got out by a clever dodge
of walking backward, so that when the police entered they thought you
were just coming in; that you haven’t by any means given up the hope
of finding your sister, and that——” Here I held up my hand and he
stopped.
“You certainly have the advantage of me,” I told him. “Now suppose you
proceed and tell me why you think the Department will help me in my
search?”
He shook his head. “In spite of your pledge, I cannot tell you that,
unless and until you decide to join. There is too much in the balance
and I have pledges of my own to consider.” He leaned forward and spoke
eagerly. “But listen. This is a _bona fide_ offer and I am empowered
to make it. You are mixing yourself up, or are trying to, in something
far bigger than you have any idea of—something far too big for you to
handle alone. Join us! You have got nowhere this way—that I happen to
know. Indeed, if you had, almost certainly you would not be here to
give me this interview. That much I will tell you. Come with me
to-morrow and see the Chief and listen to what he has to say. Perhaps
he will make things clearer than I have the right to. But you have
nothing to lose and, I believe, everything to gain by joining us. Our
Chief is in town for a few days. Will you come?”
I sat taking him in for a moment. “Well,” I answered at last, “I don’t
believe you’re crazy anyhow, though the thing sounds absurd enough in
all conscience. Moreover, I hate to spare even one day from my search,
just because I have got nowhere, as you say. But I think I’ll take a
chance and see this chief of yours, whoever he is.”
I broke off short because my visitor had got slowly and silently to
his feet and was tiptoeing toward the window, where heavy curtains
were drawn half-way back to let in the evening air.
As he passed me, he nodded and motioned me to go on talking, his lips
forming the words “Go on!”
“What time do you want me to meet you and where?” I went on at random.
My visitor reached the window and snatched one of the heavy curtains
aside. I caught a glimpse of a startled face—saw the face twist into a
sudden, frightened snarl. Then Moore’s hand flashed to his hip as I
got to my feet. The room rang with the crash of a revolver shot and I
clapped my hand to the side of my head. I saw the intruder stumble
forward into the room through the smoke, tearing with both hands at
his chest, and then sink limply to the floor. A small metal object
shaped something like a hammer-head dropped from his hand as he fell.
Glass was still tinkling on the floor from a broken picture behind me
as my visitor slipped his revolver back in his pocket and stooped over
the fallen man. “Good Lord, so soon?” I heard him whisper.
I stumbled over to him, speechless, as Larry came running into the
room, a ludicrous look of apprehension on his face. It cleared a
little when he saw me. Then a moment later he caught sight of the
blood on the side of my face and came running over to me. “My God,
sor, did he get you bad? I’ll tear the heart out av him.” He turned on
Moore, and then for the first time caught sight of the man on the
floor. Moore turned to me at the same moment.
“Did he get you? Not badly, did he?” He strode over to me. “Let’s have
a look! No, just a scratch, thank goodness. Close call though.”
“Say, what the devil is it all about?” I began. “Who is this fellow,
and what the hell did he get me with? I’ll swear there was only one
revolver shot and that was yours.”
But Moore interrupted me. “Listen,” he said quickly. “That one is
dead, I think, and a good job too. But you and I are also, or as good
as dead, if a word of this gets into the papers. I want you to ’phone
to police headquarters, if your head will let you, and ask for Captain
Peters. Don’t talk to any one else on any account. When you get him,
give him this address and tell him to come here at once. Give him no
name, but tell him he’s wanted. Better wash out that wound first,
though. Get rid of your man and keep his mouth shut, will you? I’m
going to search this fellow.”
Whatever it was that had struck me, the wound on the side of my head
was only a scratch. Larry, seething with indignation and curiosity,
washed it out for me, keeping up a running fire of questions the
while, to which I returned no answer. My visitor’s manner, to say
nothing of my own narrow escape, had convinced me that the matter was
serious, and the less Larry knew the less he could talk, though I
doubted anything but his discretion. A few moments later I went to the
telephone, leaving Larry in his room with orders to stay there and to
keep his mouth shut in future, and leaving Moore still busy with his
victim. My own head was seething with remonstrance and questions, to
say nothing of a slight dizziness induced by the blow it had received.
But I succeeded in getting Captain Peters and delivering my message.
“I’ll be there in ten minutes, tell him!” came over the wire to me,
followed by the crash of the receiver in its socket. Then I turned
back to Moore and the thing he was searching.
He looked up as I gave him the captain’s message. “Thanks,” he said.
Then, indicating the man on the floor, “Nothing at all on him
except—this! What do you make of it? Be careful!”
I took the metal object that the intruder had dropped as he fell. But
I could make nothing of it. It resembled nothing I had ever seen
except that there was a projection about an inch long from the middle
of it that might be a muzzle. It was made of blued steel and built to
fit in the hand when half closed, so that the muzzle protruded between
the second and third fingers.
“It’s some sort of an air revolver,” Moore explained; “but I’ve never
seen anything just like it before. Maybe it’ll come in useful, though.
Gad, I hope this fellow was alone!” he added.
“But who is he?” I demanded at last, “and how on earth did he get in
here?”
“As to who he is,” Moore smiled, a little grimly, “you’ll find out all
about that to-morrow—if he was alone. Otherwise you probably won’t
live that long. As to how he got in: like a fool I misunderstood your
man and followed him a little way toward the roof when he first
started after you. He had left the door of the apartment open and this
poor devil must have slipped in then. Your man turned back and showed
me in here, but I suppose he must have hidden behind the curtain at
once. The time was so short that I never thought to suspect anything
or look for eavesdroppers, until I saw the curtain bulge a little in a
way no summer breeze would move it. You saw the rest, and I’ll say it
was a damned close thing at that, that he didn’t get the two of us.
But come on, let’s get him out of this.”
Together we carried the man to a chair and sat him up in it. I put my
ear to his chest, but the burnt hole in his coat and in the shirt
beneath, through which bright red blood was still slowly oozing, was
directly over the heart. The man was stone dead.
Moore stood looking down at him a moment. “Poor devil,” he said. “He
was only a tool, _but_, none the less, I think he was here to finish
my little business, and yours too, probably, after what I had told
you.” He hesitated. “What’s more,” he went on, “it’s probably a good
job for both of us that he’s dead. The only good Indian is a dead
Indian, and this fellow is one of that breed.”
At this moment the bell rang and I went to the door. Coming just after
the recent scene I had witnessed, the burly police captain who stood
there gave me a twinge of uneasiness on Moore’s account, for I had
taken a strong liking to my unconventional and quick-witted visitor.
But the captain only nodded and passed in front of me through the
hall, as I stood back, entering the room where Moore still hung over
his victim, as though to wring the last bit of information out of him.
Moore nodded and spoke at once. “Captain Peters, I’m sorry to say I’ve
killed this man. I caught him behind that curtain, and it was a close
thing at that, as you can see by that picture over there and by this
gentleman’s head.”
The police captain whistled and, striding over to the body, stared
down at it for a moment. Then he turned back to Moore. “I don’t know
him, do you?” he asked.
“No,” the other answered, “I don’t. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen him
before. But I want you to get a taxi and get him out of here at once,
if you will. You can find him somewhere else; anywhere, you know. But
keep the thing entirely out of the papers if you can, in any case.
That’s important, as you can guess. Above all, captain, don’t let it
get about that he had anything to do with me or with this gentleman or
that he was killed in this building. If you do, my life will be a poor
risk for any insurance company, though I guess it’s that already. You
know enough about this business to know that! Will you fix it for me?”
“I’ll fix it,” the captain answered, laconically. He turned in my
direction, “Who’s this?” he asked curiously.
“Meet Mr. Clayton, Captain Peters,” Moore answered, with a shadow of a
wink at me for the style of introduction. “He’s not with us yet, but I
believe he will be before long,” he added.
“Good enough!” said the captain and shook hands, his manner thawing
considerably. “Glad to meet you, Mr. Clayton. Well, if you’ll ’phone
for the taxi, I guess I can manage to get this downstairs by myself. I
guess it will be better if neither of you gentlemen show yourselves.”
A few moments later the taxi arrived, and after putting a fresh coat
on the body—one of Larry’s, by the way—and closing the eyes, we rang
for the elevator. When the boy finally woke up and arrived at our
floor, I had an opportunity to observe something of the quality that
had brought the captain his rank. He marched into the elevator with
his arm around the body, supporting it. He set it down on the seat and
sat down beside it, and as the elevator door closed on the round,
startled eyes of the operator, I heard the captain gruffly admonishing
his charge, in the usual tone: “Come on now, you ain’t as drunk as all
that.”
As soon as I rejoined Moore, he turned away from the window where he
had been standing and, walking up to me, held out his hand.
“I’m sorry—damned sorry—that this happened here, Clayton. Of course
I’m sorry that it happened at all, except that it’s one less to reckon
with, and of course that bump on the head you got is at my door. But
what you’ve seen to-night is a little—just a very little shadow of
what you’re up against—if you only knew it. Now I must go. Be at 7th
Avenue and 16th Street to-morrow at 3.30. There’s no need to mix you
up with this yet until you make up your mind. And it will be best, I
think, if we’re not seen together. Will you do it?”
“I’ll be there,” I told him.
“Right,” he answered. “Good-night. Don’t come out to the elevator with
me. I’m going to walk down a few flights anyway,” and with a smile and
a graceful wave of the hand that brought back his original simpering
manner, he let himself out and was gone.
I called Larry at last and set him, sullen and rebellious, to picking
up the pieces of the broken picture glass and to washing away the
blood-stains on the floor. Then I sat down to ponder upon the events
of the night and the new features they had introduced into my search.